GTA IV: Redemption, Revenge, Resolve
by bladesonic2005
Summary: When Niko Bellic accepts a simple job to pass the time, but gets involved with his past again, will his conscious finally give in?
1. Chapter 1

The uptown Algonquin apartment was empty, and its resident was asleep in the other room. Aside from dirty vodka glasses scattered about the kitchen, it was clean. A half-empty bottle of alcohol, unidentifiable except by taste, leaked its contents onto a laptop. The screen flickered, showing its image one last time, then flashed and went dark. Blood was morphed into the shape of a footprint, which trailed into the living area. There were handprints on the faux-leather couch, shaped with the same liquid on the floor. A cell phone rang on the couch, and a hand reached from the darkness to answer.

"Hello?" a groggy voice said, with a thick Serbian accent. The dull yellow glow of the phone's LCD screen illuminated the side of the speaker's head. Cheekbones jutted out below the ear in traditional Eastern European fashion, and chestnut brown eyes flashed yellow momentarily as the light struck them.

"Is this Niko Bellic?" a man on the other end asked.

"It depends on who's asking."

"An employer. If you're looking for some cash, meet my contact outside the Zirconium Building. He will be arriving soon." A click resonated through the earpiece, followed by a small tone played by the phone. Niko let the phone fall to his side as he stood. The slick piece of plastic he held in his hand disappeared into his pocket as Niko waded through furniture. An open elevator sat along the far wall, and Niko stepped into it. He smashed the lobby button with the muzzle of his gun and watched as the metallic doors closed in front of him.

Niko ran his hand down the bullet-ridden suit jacket he had worn for over a year. Blood stained its white pinstripes red and loose threads poked through bullet holes. The white shirt beneath it was dyed red, and Niko's black slacks were frayed along the cuffs. A knife had cut a jagged hole down the left leg. His loafers were scuffed, and blood oozed through splits in the soles.

The doors opened with a ding, and Niko stepped into the lobby. The hitman stepped outside into the drizzling rain. In a parking space outside the apartment building, a Banshee sat in the twilight. Niko stepped into the sports car and it sprung to life as he reconnected the wires where the ignition panel once was. The driver roared the engine twice, then took off toward Lancet.

Niko sat outside the Zirconium Building, watching the sun rise between the skyscrapers. Images of his friends and family skimmed across his consciousness, dropping notes of depressing news into Niko's mind. Derrick McReary died last week from a drug overdose, while Packie was in Leftwood hospital for the same reason. Gerry was ultimately found guilty of racketeering and sent down to Vice City Correctional Facility. Niko's Rasta friend Little Jacob and his mentor Badman were off at Jamaica for another week or two. Brucie had moved to Vinewood shortly after Niko took care of Dimitri and Pegorino. "Business calls," is what he had said.

Dwane was found dead in his apartment four days ago. It was determined suicide. Niko had never regretted his decision to dispose of Playboy X until he heard the news. Roman and Mallorie were married happily ever after in their Algonquin penthouse, along with their son. Young Niko Bardas-Bellic was currently sleeping next to his parents, while his namesake was out killing just to live. Roman proposed the idea over dinner one night to name the child after what he said was, "The greatest man alive, even if he kills and steals on a regular basis." It was a good joke, but Niko was not fond of the idea. Roman ended up doing this behind his back anyway, and it was flattering in a way, but it unsettled Niko to think that Roman may have destined his child to the same fate just through a name.

Before Niko could continue with his thoughts, the squeal of tires and the slam of a door startled him back to reality. There was a Middle Eastern man approaching the car. Niko rolled down the window to his Banshee. The man leaned in.

"Are you Niko Bellic?"

"Yes. Who are you?"

"That isn't important right now. May I get in?" Niko nodded and waved his hand over the empty passenger seat. The man got in and Niko jammed the accelerator. The Banshee jumped into traffic.

"So, what's this job I heard about?"

"Well, Mr. Bellic, we require your help smuggling drugs into the country." Niko resisted the urge to shove the man out of the car.

"Smuggling ruined my life, and drugs ruined my friends. I'm afraid you don't have a deal." The Middle Eastern scowled.

"What about killing?" Niko, although still frowning, raised a scarred eyebrow slightly. "NOOSE has started to investigate us and we need some protection." The man finished talking and straightened his jacket as Niko whipped around a turn.

"How much will you pay?"

"We can give you $10,000 per operation. I'm afraid our product movement isn't large enough to pay you more at the moment." Niko's scowl deepened, but his interest was thoroughly piqued.

"You said NOOSE. Is that all, or are there other factions involved."

"Just NOOSE right now. Like I said, we're fairly small-time and the other drug traffickers are too large to be bothered with us." Niko grunted as he jerked the steering wheel, narrowly avoiding a taxi. The driver honked and shook his fist.

"I'll do it. When do you need me?" The man smiled.

"Our next boat is coming in tomorrow. Meet me at Port Tudor, five A.M. I'll get out here." Niko reached down and gripped the emergency brake, yanking it up. The Banshee's engine shuddered and tires squealed against the pavement. The Serbian whipped the back end of the sports car around, spun it 360 degrees around before bringing it to a perfect stop against the sidewalk. The man stepped out of the car and looked back at Niko. "You drive well. Don't forget; Port Tudor, Five o'clock." With that, he shut the door and walked toward a complex of high-rise offices. Niko reached for his cell phone as he drove off, shifting through his contacts.


	2. Chapter 2

"Cousin, thank you for bringing me out," Roman said across a table cluttered with vodka glasses to his closest companion. "Mallorie hasn't let me go within ten feet of the baby since I left him on that bench while I got a hot dog." Niko chuckled, recalling the frantic phone call he received from sister-in-law Mallorie when she laid eyes on helpless little Niko crawling about on a deserted bench in Middle Park. "What's so funny?" Roman scowled as he hissed the words.

"Your horrible parenting!" Niko exclaimed.

"How do you know you'd be a better father than me?"

"Because I've never left my RPG on a bench in Middle Park," Niko said with dry sarcasm. Roman's scowl deepened, but his eyes lit up with laughter. Roman was never very good at poker; his eye's betrayed his mind every time. "Anyway, enough of your horrible parenting," Niko continued with his own conversation. "I need to talk to you about something a bit more serious, Roman." Niko's cousin paused mid-drink. He swallowed hard.

"Jesus, Niko, I thought you got your revenge already! Remember what happened last time you tried to repair the past? I got shot, kidnapped, burned, and attacked at my own wedding! Ju-" Niko slammed his fist on the table, not in anger but instead to silence his rambling cousin. Roman stopped abruptly, without another sound.

"It's not revenge, Roman. It's just a small smuggling operation. Anyway, I need you to make sure you wake me up before five A.M. Don't get crazy ideas, cousin. Who's left to get revenge on? Remember, Darko was found dead in the Humbolt last month." Roman opened his mouth to protest, but Niko cut him off. "And it wasn't me, understand? I told you that when it happened." Roman raised his hands in defense."Whatever you say, cousin." The larger of the two look a long, drawn-out gulp of vodka, very nearly spilling the contents of his stomach in the process. Roman, in an involuntary gag reflex, sent backwash and vodka into Niko's face, who shook his head and gave one chuckle.

"You were never very good at chugging contests, Roman. Anyway, I better get going. Big day tomorrow," Niko said dryly. "It was nice to see you, cousin. Send Mallorie and Little Niko my regards." With that, the middle-aged Serbian meandered through the crowds of Club Liberty before finally finding the door. He shoved it open and crossed the street, casually tossing the keys to the convertible Stallion into the front seat for his cousin, even if he was going to be too drunk to walk when he left. Niko dodged taxis as he made a dash for the alleyway leading to his apartment.

* * *

The room could be described as clean, or pristine, or even perfect, but none of these descriptors would quite fit the attention to everything in this environment, and it made Assif uncomfortable. The Middle Easterner shifted his weight back and forth, the rubber soles of his shoes squeaking against the slick linoleum. _For someone who likes everything so clean, he's pretty cheap,_ Assif fumed. His employer was late, and it wasn't just the fact that he was at _his _house, but that the man had dialed the time down to damn near milliseconds. Was this all a joke? What the hell am I supposed to do with a rampaging Polack at Port Tudor tomorrow if this guy doesn't arrange this deal now? After another few minutes of waiting, Assif was fed up. He pushed himself off the granite countertop he was leaning on and moved toward the door. As he was about to leave, two thick fingers caught him in the chest out of the shadows and pushed him backward. Assif lost his balance and stumbled into a faux-leather armchair.

"You thought I forgot about our meeting, Mr. Sayheri?" The figure before Assif was dark and spoke with such a thick Russian accent, the Middle Easterner wanted subtitles for a moment. But before Assif could consider his hyperbolic joke any more, there was a shotgun at his temple and a large-faced Russian in his face. The stench of cigar smoke, vodka, and gasoline fumes mixed into some sort of awful smell Assif would from now on associate with the fear of Hell.

"N-n-no, sir," Assif stuttered. Any color that could drain from his face had, fleeing the shotgun barrel as though it feared for it's own life. The Russian smiled and whispered, "Good." The man straightened himself, but Assif refused to regain his posture, regardless of how uncomfortable the Krapea armchair was. "I assume you have everything arranged for tomorrow?"

"Ye-yes, he is going to be at Port Tudor tomorrow at five, just as you instructed." Assif's bold streak betrayed him, and he continued, "But who exactly ARE you?" The Russian turned away from Assif as he took a cigar from his pocket and lit it, puffing away.

"Me? I am many things. To the authorities, I am a smuggler and a drug runner. To my victims, I am the personification of their innermost demons." He paused, seeming for dramatic effect, or maybe just because he wanted another drag on his cigar. "To some, I am Heaven, to some, I am Hell. I can be giving, I can take from you in an instant. I can take what you love most, or give you exactly what you want. I can exile you, or I could rescue you. And to one particular Serbian," The man turned to face Assif, the dull glow of embers on the tip of his cigar illuminating the left side of his face. "I am Rodislav Bulgarin, and to this man, I am revenge."

**A/N: Shorter chapter this time around, but I just couldn't find anything to fill the gap between the club scene and the apartment scene. Anyway, please review if you enjoyed this chapter, and maybe I'll write more ;)**


	3. Chapter 3

Four o'clock. It was earlier than Niko was accustomed to waking up, but not unbearable. The Serbian groaned and swung his legs over the side of his bed. As he did this, he realized he had slept in his suit yet again. This didn't bother Niko as much as it made him uncomfortable, because his suit included black wingtips, and those always made his feet cramp overnight, and Niko's belt somehow seemed to tighten while he slept. After a deep breath, Niko pushed himself to his feet and walked over to his closet. Pulling it open, he ran his hand past the assortment of bloodied jeans, torn jackets, and the various outfits he accumulated through his adventures. Everything Niko owned was either ripped, shot, or stained by various bodily fluids. Niko grabbed the neatest thing he had; the leather jacket he first arrived with and a pair of old jeans. There was a pair of white tennis shoes he substituted for his usual wingtips. Niko closed the doors and walked out of the apartment. The elevator at the door was open and waiting, as usual. And, as usual, Niko pressed lobby and waited as the elevator descended the building.

As Niko stepped out of the elevator, his cell phone rang. He pulled the slim plastic device out of his pocket and examined the caller. The LCD screen displayed the name Little Jacob in large letters. Niko smiled and pressed the Answer button.

"How's it going, Jacob?" Niko said as he left the apartment lobby and slid into the driver's seat of a stolen Infernus.

"What's up, rasta? I an' I just getting' back from Jamrock, ya know?" Niko hotwired the car again and pulled up to the stop light at the end of the street.

"You're home early, then?"

"Yah, rasta. Badman had'ta make trouble in our hotel, got Babylon involved. How you doin', bredren?"

"I'm alright, yeah? Just took a job with some drug runners, going to meet them now."

"Alright, alright, tha's cool, star. Keep it easy, I talk to you soon."

"See you later, Jacob." Niko pressed End and slid the phone back into his pocket. The Infernus' engine roared as Niko jammed the accelerator down and turned hard onto a bridge. The West river flowed below him, churning up pollution and trash with every wave. Niko grimaced and turned hard toward Port Tudor. The road in front of him was devoid of it's normal congestion, with only a few cars scattered about and almost no pedestrians. Niko wasn't exactly phased by this, but it did pique his curiosity. He slowed his Infernus down to a reasonable speed; not quite the speed limit, but closer than usual, and took a more careful look around. As he drove, Niko noticed that most of the windows were covered and the doors seemed to be locked. It was like a scene out of the old American western movies Niko and Roman used to watch back home, when all of the townspeople would run for their homes after the two bad cowboys started their fights. That's when Niko got worried.

And that's when the gunfire started. It was only one shot at first; just a 9MM handgun. But then there was something more rapid, urgent, about the tempo of the shots. Not quite an automatic weapon, but more like a cluster of gunmen. The bullets started to shatter glass and crush the metal of Niko's Infernus. In a move that had become like instinct, Niko pulled up on the handbrake, turned the wheel sharply left, and dove out of the car. The Infernus came to a stop neatly, at an almost perfect angle, and Niko hadn't even hit the ground before he was behind it, with his Micro Uzi drawn. More gunshots rang out, this time from a rifle, and Niko crawled to the front of his car for a better view.

Two Hispanic-looking men were crouched behind a Cavalcade along the street, another was in the street, holding an M16 to his shoulder, and a fourth man had his MP40 trained on Niko. The Serbian under fire drew a breath and took aim at the man with the rifle. Niko lined up the shot and squeezed the trigger. Three shots found their mark, hitting the man's chest, arm, and head. He cried out in pain before spluttering and collapsing to the pavement. His comrades replied with more gunshots directed toward Niko, who was drawing a grenade from his pocket. The Serbian pulled the pin and tossed the grenade underhand toward the Cavalcade sheltering the two gunmen. The explosive rolled under the SUV without the men noticing, then detonated, flinging the car and the two men into the air with such force that it shook the ground and shattered the glass in the apartments along the street. The burning Cavalcade came to rest on the roof of a Primo, which promptly collapsed under the weight.

The final gunmen ducked behind the front end of a Sultan, then hefted his MP40 over his head and blind-fired at Niko, who covered his head as glass showed down on him. The clip emptied, and the man retreated to reload his weapon. While he was distracted, Niko stood and ran across the street, sliding behind a newspaper dispenser. When the last attacker turned to fire at the Infernus, Niko spun around and shot him in the foot. He collapsed to the sidewalk, cringing. His weapon slid beneath the Sultan he was behind. Niko nonchalantly walked to his side.

"Surprise, asshole," Niko sneered, then fired one shot into the man's head, splattering blood onto the sidewalk. The Serbian shook his head and turned back to his car. The slick red body of the supercar was riddled with bullet holes, and the right-front tire had been shot. Niko sighed and looked at the other cars along the side of the road when he heard a single clap, then another, then another, until it rose to full applause. Niko stiffened and turned around with his gun readied, and didn't lower it when he noticed who was clapping.

"Hello, Niko," the man said calmly, still clapping, but slower, more like a taunt.

"Hello, Mr. Bulgarin," Niko replied, then pulled the trigger.


	4. Chapter 4

"Mr. Bulgarin, are you alright?" Assif asked. He was not truly concerned about the Russian man, but was more worried about the consequences if he didn't ask. Rodislav made it to his feet and scoffed.

"Bah, just a scratch." He opened the rip caused by the one bullet Niko was able to fire. Bulgarin's arm was nothing more than scraped. It oozed just enough blood to look painful, but not enough to actually hurt a substantial amount. "Maybe a bandage when we get back to the warehouse. Pick up this slimy rat," Rodislav barked, waving his hand over Niko's limp body. Assif slung his AK-47 across his back and hefted the Serbian gangster. _He must be wearing body armor, because he doesn't look this heavy, _Assif fumed as Bulgarin waved him toward a waiting Landstalker. The tailgate was open, and Assif quite literally threw Niko into the back. The suspension groaned as 200 pounds of deadweight collided with the SUV's frame.

"Shouldn't we gag him in case he wakes up?"

"That's not necessary. You gave him quite a thump." Assif turned his head to examine the butt of his rifle, with another fresh blood stain on the gun. _Yeah, I'd say. _Assif slammed the tailgate down and slid the rifle off his back as he climbed into the Landstalker, joining his boss in the front. Rodislav slammed the accelerator down and took off toward Bohan.

* * *

Niko awoke fairly uneventfully. His head was sticky and he was very hot. Niko's eyelids were heavy and he was very sore, but he still managed to open his eyes. The room was cramped, humid, dirty, and abandoned, and that last fact was very, very important because that's when his cell phone rang. Niko hastily jammed the Accept button to quite the loud jingle. It was Roman.

"Ah, cousin, I'm sorry I didn't call you this morning. Did you make it to your meeting?"

"Roman, listen to me, I need you to call a man named Patrick McReary and tell him I'm in trouble. He should be in Leftwood Memorial Hospital if he hasn't been released yet."

"S-sure cousin," Roman replied shakily. He was expecting calm Niko, not his other side. "What's the problem?" There was a jostling outside the door, and Niko could hear keys.

"I have to go, cousin! Do this for me!" Niko pressed End and rolled over painfully, covering his phone. The door creaked open.

"Bellic! Wake up, already!" Niko recognized this voice, but vaguely. The source of the voice kicked the bed, or table, that Niko was on, and he groaned.

"Get up, for God's sake. There's someone who wants to see you." Niko rolled again, and saw who was speaking. It was the Middle Eastern man who he met in Lancet about the job in the first place. He never gave his name.

"Well, Mohammed," Niko said dryly, "you can tell this man that I'm not going anywhere." The man spat at Niko, said something along the lines of, 'everyone here is just a bunch of ignorant fu-', and walked away. Niko smirked, which quickly turned into a cringe as he tried to get himself upright. Despite the sharp pain in his legs, Niko tried his best to stand. His first, second, and third attempt all resulted in falling over in some way, so he settled with sitting up on the side of his cot. If it could really be called that. It was more of an operating table covered in straw, but it worked. Niko decided to take a more careful look at his surroundings, as he had nothing better to do.

The room was too small to hold anything more than the table Niko sat on and the chair in the corner. The walls were dirty brick, and there were broken wooden beams hanging from the ceiling. Cobwebs hung in the corners and there was dirt on the tile floor. Most of the tiles were busted or cracked in some way, with some completely missing, exposing the unstained boards underneath. The one door in the front of the room was swung open. It looked like it was once hooked up to a system that closed it automatically, but that was missing. It was a plain wooden door, with a single glass panel in it. The glass was broken, with only a few straggling pieces jutting up. Niko decided this might have at one time been a hospital room, but the building was long abandoned.

"Good, you're awake." Niko turned his head to look at the figure standing in the doorway.

"Rodislav Bulgarin. How have you been?" Niko's voice was rich with sarcasm.

"I am much better now, my friend." Bulgarin was condescendingly cheerful. Niko didn't like it.

"If we're such good friends, perhaps you could tell me what you plan to do?" The Middle Eastern man who had awoken Niko earlier walked up and stood next to Bulgarin. He heard what Niko had said.

"Maybe that isn't such a good idea?"

"Ah, there's no trouble," Bulgarin scoffed. "Niko's not going anywhere." Bulgarin entered the room and hunched over, filling Niko's vision with his face. "Well, friend, I want my money, and I plan to get it, one way or another." Bulgarin jabbed Niko in the forehead with two large fingers as he stood and walked away, then flapped a hand at the Middle Eastern man. "Take care of him, Assif."

"Ah, so your name is Assif?"

"Yes it is. Not Mohammed, you dog." Assif grabbed Niko by his shirt and pulled him up. "Get on your feet. We've got something you need to do."

"And what's that?" Assif smiled maliciously.

"You're going to pay Mr. Bulgarin."

* * *

"Roman, who was that?" Mallorie stuck a toweled head out of the bathroom.

"Uh, that was Niko," Roman was clearly nervous. "D-do you know anyone named, um, Patrick McReary?"

"Yeah! He used to do business with Elizabeta. Why?"

"Well, Niko's in trouble and he told me to call this Patrick and tell him."

"Wait, Niko's in trouble? What happened?"

"He didn't tell me, but it can't be good. He said Patrick should be in Leftwood Memorial Hospital."

"Well, go, Roman! What are you waiting for!" Roman shook his head and grabbed the keys to his car before running out of his apartment. Mallorie walked out of the bathroom and into the living area, where Niko was crying softly in his crib, almost as if he knew his uncle was in trouble. Mallorie bent over and lifted her baby, cradling him.

"Shh, shh, it's okay," she said softly as she watched Roman speed of toward Alderney. "They'll be okay..."


	5. Chapter 5

Roman was never a fan of the hospital. Back home, they were never clean, and Roman nearly lost his leg because the doctor failed to disinfect the wound when he stitched it up. It wasn't even proper suture thread; it was a shoelace the nurse had stripped down to fit into the needle. The hospitals in America were still held in distaste by Roman, but for other reasons. The main one was the smell. It smelled of blood and tears covered in ammonia. Roman stopped his Super GT, a gift from Niko, and walked into the hospital. The nurse at the front desk was surprisingly cheerful.

"Hello, sir!" She smiled as she spoke. It reminded Roman of Mallorie's disposition. "Can I help you?"

"I'm looking for Patrick McReary?"

"Alright. Just a minute..." She typed something into a computer rapidly, then turned back to Roman. "He's just around the corner, in room 119." Roman smiled and said thank you, then turned and walked to the room. It was a single bed room, crammed with machines. The doctor was absent, and it's occupant was thumbing through a magazine. Roman knocked on the door.

"Who are you?" Roman was a bit taken back by this man's defensiveness. Maybe it came from a life of drugs and crime. Niko was like that sometimes.

"Are you Patrick McReary?" The man smiled.

"Here and present, just barely! What can I do for you?"

"Uh, well, I'm Niko's cousin. He said he was in trouble and told me to tell you."

"Ah, old Niko boy! What's he gotten himself into now?"

"I think he might've gotten kidnapped by someone, I'm not sure. Look, can you help him or not?"

"Damn, Niko's a prince. I can't ignore this." The man started pulling IVs from his arm and energetically swung himself out of bed. He stuck his hand out at Roman. "Packie McReary, at your service." Roman shook his hand then left the room as he dressed. Packie left the room and nodded at Roman to follow him. They went up to the front desk.

"I'm afraid my services are needed elsewhere," Packie said, part condescending, part sincerely, to the nurse. He slid a credit card onto the desk. "Put it on here."

"Well, Mr. McReary, your expenses have been paid in full, but I'm afraid I can't let you leave until you've been discharged by a doctor." Packie flashed to anger, bending over the desk.

"I don't give a damn about your regulations! My friend is in trouble, and I'm not gonna let a good man die when I could do something. I'm out of here." Roman followed as Packie hurriedly left the hospital. A doctor tried to grab him and drag him back to the room, but Packie had a 9mm under the doctor's chin in seconds.

"Don't try anything, buddy. I've got you screwed." The doctor backed away and Packie slid into the passenger seat of Roman's Super GT. "Well, then! We've got a place to be!" Roman walked around to the driver's seat and sat down in his car, sliding the keys into the ignition and cranking the engine. "So, what's your name?"

"I'm Roman."

"You're the one who dragged good ol' Niko over to the land of Liberty then? Good lad." Roman shook his head and smiled; this Packie man was a nutjob, but so was everyone else in America.

* * *

This wasn't payment, it was torture. Sure, Niko wasn't expecting them to all stand around smiling, with Niko signing a check and shaking Bulgarin's hand and waving at a camera like they did on those annoying TV commercials, but certainly not this. This was almost beyond cruel, it was just evil.

"So, Niko, are you enjoying your programming?" Bulgarin was standing behind a television screen, smiling down at his captive. On the screen was a grainy black and white image of Roman's penthouse apartment. There was Mallorie and the baby, and then there were two men dressed in dark clothing holding them at gunpoint. Another was guarding the elevator. Niko couldn't see Roman in the picture, but he assumed he was there somewhere.

"Why would you do this, Bulgarin? I thought I owed you money, not a family member?"

"Ah, but Niko," Rodislav's voice had a sudden tone of formality; like he was going to present Niko a physics lesson. "I've got to have some fun along the way. And watching you suffer is quite fun." Niko growled low in his throat. It was a deep, glottal sound that hurt Niko's throat.

"You're an animal. If you hurt Mallorie or the baby, I will kill you."

"You've made that threat before, and you still haven't made good on your promise. You are starting to seem like a very... dishonest person, Niko." Niko summoned the last bit of saliva from his mouth and spat at Bulgarin. It was a pitiful attempt that didn't even hit the television, and it made Niko feel even more defeated. The captive looked at the screen, feeling worthless.

"See, Niko, this is all part of a plan. First I take out your family. Then your friends. Then you. Eventually you will stop fighting, and I will win. I figured you would have figured that out by now." On the screen, one of Bulgarin's men got closer to Mallorie, pressing the muzzle of his gun to her forehead. Niko could hear her cries in his head, and it took every ounce of self-control to not shout or burst into tears. Just as Niko imagined the man smiling evilly in her face, about to pull the trigger, something struck the man at the elevator in the leg, then in the face.

First Roman entered the image, trying his best to subdue the man at the elevator. He wasn't armed, but the other two were. They turned their attention to Roman, saving Mallorie for the moment. Then one of them was shot in the forehead, and that was Packie's entrance. The other man, realizing he was down two to one, even if one seemed relatively useless, gave up on Packie and turned again to Mallorie. Before he could make any kind of threat, Packie fired into his skull. Three rounds cleanly pierced his head. Roman leapt off the man he had taken down and ran to his family as Packie killed him too. The Irishman didn't think twice about it. It was for Niko, who was smiling ear to ear. Bulgarin and Assif were stunned as they watched. Niko was feeling incredibly cocky.

"Was that in your plan, asshole?"

**A/N: Hope you enjoyed the chapter! I tried to keep Packie as in-character as possible while still fitting into a T rating. Cursing just seems to be part of his personality, so it's hard to write him and censor myself. Anyway, if you liked it, please review!**


	6. Chapter 6

Niko opened the door carefully, listening for any poorly-maintenance hinges. It opened silently, and once there was enough space, Niko slid through to the main room. Assif was sleeping against the wall, a 9mm Glock hanging limply in his hand. Niko shut the door, slid the pistol from the guard's hand, and dropped it in his own coat pocket. The Serbian scanned the dark room, evaluating his options. The building had no doors, and Niko could see no guards at either exit. Niko tested his legs before lashing out, bashing Assif in the face with his right foot. Although he wasn't at full strength, the off-guard Middle Easterner crumpled over, unconscious. Niko patted him down, took the man's wallet and clips for the pistol, then dragged Assif into his room, bound and gagged him with electrical wire and straw, and left. The exit was, as Niko's first analysis had showed, unguarded. Niko checked his left and right, then sprinted up the gravel drive and stopped the first car he saw. He drew the pistol from his pocket and approached the driver side of a Super GT.

"Get the fuck out of the car!" Niko shouted. The driver opened the door, and both men stopped.

"Cousin!" They cried in unison, before embracing each other. Niko peered into the car and looked into the passenger's seat. Packie sat with a scowl on his face and an AK-47 on his lap.

"I see you found Packie." Niko reached in and shook the Irishman's hand. "How've you been?"

"Never fuckin' better, my friend," Packie replied, a trademark sarcasticly cheerful answer. "Get in, we're here to save you." Niko slid past his cousin and clambered over the seat and center console, before collapsing into the narrow bench seat in the back of the sports car.

"So now that you're in the company of good men, where to?" Packie turned and asked his friend and partner-in-crime.

"There's a certain arms dealer in Schottler that would be very helpful," Niko replied simply.

***

Early morning sun beamed down on the cracked, hilly pavement of the street in front of Little Jacob's home. Dust, pollution, and filth floated through the air on gentle autumn breezes, becoming the symbol of fall in the absence of leaves and trees. Roman, Packie, and Niko stood in front of the short apartment building, waiting on the Rastafarian to answer the door. After a few minutes, Little Jacob drug himself downstairs and opened the door.

"Yo, Star," Jacob said toward Niko. "Wha'gwan?"

"Hey Jacob, we need your help."

"Wit what, Niko?"

"Remember Bulgarin, the man Dimitri sold me out to and tried to kill us in the warehouse?"

"Wha', that blood claat after ya again?"

"You got that right," Packie interjected into the conversation.

"He tried to kill Mallorie and kidnapped Niko," Roman followed, clearing up Packie's skimpy explanation of events.

"So wha' ya afta, Star?"

"Anything you can spare," Niko said simply.

"I feel ya. Follow me." Jacob led the group into his house, then upstairs and into a walk-in closet. The room was slammed full of weaponry, from swords to flamethrowers.

"This for you, Star. I an' I help ya, too." Packie and Niko stood motionless, gaping at the massive arsenal their Jamaican ally had packed into a closet.

"I haven't seen an armory like this since the war, Jacob," Niko gaped. Although Packie remained silent, his eyes sent a similar message. Niko was first to recover from the daze, diving head-first into the pile of weaponry, testing every rifle and handgun his eyes fell upon.

"This collection is amazing, Jacob. Not even a single weapon is a counterfeit." Niko drew an M4 from a box and slung it across his shoulder, then pocketed more rounds for the Glock he snatched from Assif earlier. A simple bandolier slid across the opposite shoulder, where Niko slid clips for the M4, and a hip holster hooked to his belt, which held the Glock securely.

Packie finally regained sanity, and hastily pushed Niko out of his way. Without hesitation, the Irishman grabbed a Remington shotgun and a box of shells, then a Desert Eagle, and finally hefted a rocket launcher, loading a few extra missiles into a duffel with weapons he brought from a stash at his house.

"I must say," Packie said toward Jacob has he finished his selection. "You have one helluva selection right there."

"Yah, man. I an' I been holdin' des guns for a long time, seen?"

"Well then," Niko said anxiously. "Shall we begin?"

***

Assif awoke in a strange predicament. Somehow, he had tied himself up and moved himself into the captive's room, who was evidently missing. Then he realized he was floating, which was not normal behavior. Then again, he had gotten pretty drunk last night, and he had woken up beside a goat once, so floating wasn't the worst morning-after situation.

Bulgarin threw Assif onto the tile floor so forcefully, it shattered floorboards and broke some of Assif's ribs. The Middle Easterner cried out in pain, bouncing once and landing on his left side, clutching his chest.

"You slimy rat!" Bulgarin shouted, saliva flying from his lips in specks. "You let Niko escape!" Assif groaned as the situation cleared, and his concussion lessened.

"Whu-?" Assif mumbled. Bulgarin kicked Assif's clearly-broken ribcage with a steel-toed boot.

"You heard me! Niko's gone!" Assif struggled to his feet, then collapsed onto the cot. "Get up and find him!" Bulgarin was blinded by rage, and with pure disrespect grasped Assif by the wrist and drug him from the warehouse and threw him into the passenger seat of a Presidente.

"How do you know he's gone?" Assif's useless question further hinted at his daze and probable concussion.

"Because he's missing, you drunkard." Bulgarin slid his bulky frame into the driver's seat, turned the key and jammed the accelerator to the floor. The car skipped a few beats, then settled and took off up the gravel hill. "And after we visit the hospital, you're finding him on your own."

**A/N: I realize it's been too long of a time since I updated this, so I thought I should at least try to pick it up again. Sorry if it isn't up to par, I haven't written something like this for a while. Please leave a review if you liked it, or even if you didn't.**


	7. Chapter 7

Niko turned off into an empty parking lot in southern Algonquin. The stolen Cavalcade smoothly rolled through the lot, before its driver slid into a parking space and turned the engine off. Niko jumped from the driver's seat and moved to the back of the SUV. He wrenched the tailgate open and pulled a metallic box from the back. The box was long and resembled an oblong briefcase to any observer. Niko closed the tailgate and moved toward the towering parking garage bordering the parking lot. He checked the time on his phone as he walked toward the garage. _12:02. Right on time._ The ramp to the garage was closed with a hinged gate. A sign on the gate read 'Closed for renovations'. Ignoring the sign, Niko slid the box beneath, then climbed over the gate. Chains clattered against the metal post they were tied to as the Serbian vaulted across. Retrieving his box, Niko continued the trek to the top of the building. Signs plastered across the concrete walls read 'Warning: Hard Hat Area', but Niko again ignored them as he hiked up the ramp to the second level. Once he reached the next floor, Niko realized the reasoning behind the renovation. The building sat in disrepair, with sections of the wall either chipped, cracked, or otherwise missing. The structure was obviously unstable, but Niko continued to the top deck of the garage. As if the building itself was warning him, pieces of the concrete roof crumbled and fell to the ground. Niko climbed the last ramp and reached his penultimate goal; the roof.

The Serbian walked over to the edge of the deck overlooking the parking lot he came from. Niko bent down and unlatched his box, which opened on a pneumatic lever to reveal a sniper rifle, disassembled and packed into a Styrofoam mold. Niko set to work fitting the weapon together again, sliding the stock, scope, and bi-pod into place. He loaded the weapon and finally crouched down against the wall of the deck, resting the bi-pod on the low barrier.

Of course, Niko had a reason for going through the trouble of transporting and assembling a sniper rifle atop a crumbling building, and that was because he had received a tip that Bulgarin and his lapdog Assif would be meeting with a contact in this lot. The man on the phone had simply rattled off names and locations, before giving Niko a time and saying "Good luck," and hanging up. Niko checked the time again, and looked out across the parking lot to see two PMP-600s roll into the lot and park next to each other. Through the scope, Niko could make out the large frame of Bulgarin and a badly beaten Assif sitting in the first car to the left. In the next were two men in suits that Niko could not identify. Both parties emerged from their vehicles, and one of the suited men laughed, shook Bulgarin's hand, and jerked a thumb toward Niko.

Suddenly, everything went wrong.

Bulgarin pulled a radio from his pocket and said, or more accurately, shouted, something into it. At that moment, Niko heard the sound of helicopter blades beat against his ears, and he looked up. An Annihilator had appeared from the other side of a building complex and it's guns were trained on Niko. Ditching the sniper rifle, the Serbian rolled from the wall and sprinted across the flat concrete toward the ramp heading down. A burst from the Gatling guns rang out, concrete splintering beneath Niko's feet. The material gave in to the guns easily, disappearing into a cloud of dust as a result of disrepair. Niko slowed as he reached the edge of the ramp and disappeared into the darkness below the top deck. The Annihilator made another pass across the garage, its high-caliber bullets sliding through the ruined concrete like butter and striking the harder ground on the second floor inches from Niko. Niko reached into his pocket and drew a Glock from his pants. He loaded it and headed down to the ground floor. On the ramp, three bursts of fire rang out and Niko slid back around, taking cover behind a concrete pillar. The two men in suits had MP40s at their shoulders, aiming at a mostly-hidden Niko. The man on the right let out another burst, shattering the support column Niko was hiding behind to the core. Niko leaned out and fired a full clip at the men, before darting across the exposed garage floor to another support column.

Disoriented from Niko's counter-attack, both men fired at the beam Niko had been behind. The MP40 rounds cut through the old concrete, breaking it completely off the metal rods at the core and destroying that column. The man on the left advanced to confirm a kill, and as he approached, Niko leapt out from his cover position and fired two shots into his head. The suited man slumped over dead, blood running from the wounds. Niko scooped the MP40 from the ground and let out a burst at the next man, who darted for cover. Niko drug the dead man off to the side of the ramp where he wasn't exposed and searched for ammunition for the SMG. He found two clips in the pocket of the suit, but the rest of the body was clean. By the time Niko finished his search, the other man had charged up the ramp and fired a burst at Niko. Two bullets narrowly missed, the other burrowing into Niko's arm. The Serbian groaned and drug himself out of range, ducking behind another support beam. As he did, the top deck of the garage fell under assault from the helicopter again, this time sending large chunks of concrete crashing down onto the second floor. Sections of the second floor started to disappear too, collapsing under the weight of the top deck.

Niko heaved the MP40 around the corner of the support column and let out a burst at the other assailant. Two bullets found their mark, shooting deep into his legs. The gunman fell to the ground, dropping his weapon. Niko picked up the second MP40 and started to shoot away at the support columns. At first the wounded man laughed, then his eyes shot open as he realized what Niko was doing.

"Stop!" He shouted at Niko, pleading. "The building's already collapsing on itself as it is!"

"Why not help it along?" Niko responded dryly.

"Well- Well, come on, you don't wanna kill me. I'm a good guy in a bad position."

"Oh, what a shame." Niko destroyed the second column and turned toward another.

"I've got a wife and a kid! C'mon guy, spare me!" Niko paused shooting for a moment.

"No," the Serbian said, then finished the job in silence, the man in the suit still pleading. Niko finished the last column and already the roof was buckling, threatening to lose it's balance and plummet to the ground, taking the rest of the building with it. The assailant was in tears now, his hands clasped.

"Please. Please just shoot me if you want me dead."

Niko left the falling building without another word.

**A/N: Sorry the majority of this chapter is description, but I couldn't think of a way to fit in dialogue until the end. **


	8. Closing Words An Author's Note

Hey there folks, this is Bladesonic. I realize that I had a few followers of this fic, and as you may have noticed it's not going to come to completion. I started this project before I started using planning when I wrote, so a lot of this story was in fact impromptu writing scraps that I attempted to assemble into a story. I may decide to write another, more structured story featuring the characters of GTA IV, as it is one of my all-time favorite video games in terms of characters and story alone. I love the universe the game takes place in, which is why I visit it so often, both in the game and in my writing. However, I am notorious for falling through on projects, so don't hold your breath.

Again, my apologies for ending this story prematurely. I hope you enjoyed it while it lasted.

-Bladesonic


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